


Gift Exchange

by NightIsNowFalling



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Office, Bullying, Christmas, Hate to Love, M/M, Name-Calling, Secret Santa, Slurs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 11:02:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2848550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightIsNowFalling/pseuds/NightIsNowFalling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>To Misha, With Love</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gift Exchange

**Author's Note:**

> fiction fiction fiction fiction.....unfortunately

It has only been five months since Misha had started this job as a salesman of office materials, but he can honestly say … It sucks. Not only is he hassled by his slave driving manager Mr. Fergus Crowley, but he is, for the lack of a better word, bullied by office scoundrel Jensen pretty-boy Ackles. Although there has never been any physical violence towards him; there are only so much overt comments and whispers behind his back he can take before he explodes. 

He entertains the idea of socking Jensen in his boyishly handsome face and walking out, but he knows that would never happen. The job may not be all he hoped for, but the salary was better than his last one. It’s painful sometimes to think about what he would rather be doing in life, photography, but that’s all it would ever be to him he realizes… a dream. 

Photography is something that he immensely enjoyed, more specifically landscape photography. He liked all aspects of landscape photography, scouting the area and getting lost in the scenery. But at the age of thirty-five in today’s job market, his camerawork has taken backseat and slowly became an intermittent hobby where once it consumed his life. 

Jensen’s favorite taunt to Misha was to call him a fag. He did not know whether this was because of his silent, shy, well-mannered behavior or the fact that Misha was obviously Crowley’s favorite associate and Jensen resented that. Misha did not think this true at all because he has never had a man and had a great appreciation for the female anatomy, just ask his ex. He stopped arguing with Jensen because that only fuelled the insults whereas ignoring the asshole got him to shut up faster. He once told Jensen to go fuck himself but that only resulted in a nasty rumor, so he just kept to himself. 

Jensen was a broad-shouldered guy of six-foot two, hazel-eyed and dirty blond hair, who was unfairly attractive with bow-legs…. which actually worked in his favor! He had a smirk that meant he was either contemplating mischief or working on his next one-night stand. Jensen seemed quite popular in the office, their colleagues never seemed to mind when Jensen picked on Misha. Apart from Jared, he was the closest friend he had in that forsaken office, but his presence merely fuelled Jensen’s ideas about Misha being a homo. The fact that Jared had a wife and two sons went unnoticed by Jensen, who wasn’t interested in realities that ruined his source for bullying. 

He didn’t know why this childish behavior got to him, but it did. He hated him so much for making his job a nightmare for no apparent reason.  
“I know I’m pretty” a deadly tone shook him from his musing; he hadn’t realized he was looking towards Jensen’s desk, let alone, right at him. “But if you keep staring at me like that, me and you are gonna have a major problem”  
Misha didn’t say anything, but he tried to cover up his sketchbook just as Jensen got up from his chair and stalked around the desk.

“What the fuck is this?” Jensen demanded, snatching Misha’s notepad from his hand.

Misha still didn’t speak, because he hardly had anything to say in his defense. He hoped his colleague would be amused by it. However, Jensen was not. The doodle in question featured a rather well drawn caricature of Jensen with an enlarged nose and beady (yet still beautiful) eyes, with teeth protruding from his mouth. This large head sat atop a small proportioned body with exaggerated bowlegs. 

Misha looked up and their eyes met, the other’s positively sparking with malice. “Someone told me you could draw, Collins” Jensen sneered, “If this is the best you can do, no wonder you’re still stuck in this dead-end job.” He ripped the top sheet from Misha’s notepad and screwed it up in one large fist, dropping it in front of Misha on his desk.

Misha held his gaze with those vibrant green ones for a long moment as those words sank right down to his very core and he knew his own hatred for Jensen Ackles showed in his ice cold-blue eyes.  
**  
All in all, the workplace was a miserable one for Misha and working Christmas Eve was just about the icing on the cake. The office was running on a skeleton staff; those unlucky enough not to get their forty in before Christmas were stuck in this hellhole. Along with Misha, were Jensen, Jared, Garth, and Chuck. Although Misha didn’t count the latter two as friends, they seemed okay guys, not joining in when Jensen picked on him.

It was four PM and the office was closing in half an hour, Misha watching the clock constantly and thinking of a hot shower when he got home and another solitary Christmas Eve before the TV. Their boss, Crowley, was in his office, door firmly closed, most likely jerking off because Misha didn’t really see what other purpose he served around here. Jared had already declared loudly that he had no intention of doing any more work for the rest of the day and fuck what Crowley thought. Garth smirked at this and said “Amen,” immediately kicking back in his chair and beginning to blatantly browse a pornographic website. 

Jared meanwhile, had got up and was making his way over to the generic Christmas tree, which he towered over, in the corner of the room. He plucked up what presents were under it and brought it over to his desk. “Okay guys,” he said, “get your gifts.”

All the men currently working had had the day before off in lieu of working Christmas Eve and this had been the day when the Secret exchange gifts had been dished out. Thus, what remained in this bag were five presents for the remaining men. They might have been a bunch of men in their twenties and thirties, but they still nonetheless perked up as their gifts were handed to them by Jared, taking the parcels in their hands, pressing, squeezing and shaking. 

Misha saw the gift he himself had bought be distributed to the appropriate man and he watched a moment as fingers probed it, before putting it to one side.

Misha took his own from Jared with a thank you, surprised to see how nicely wrapped the square box was, it was wrapped in silver paper, tied with ribbon and topped with a bow. It looked so lovingly prepared that he couldn’t help but wonder who would seriously bother, then looked at Jared with a shy smile, because he knew his friend would. Or maybe his boss, who seemed oddly, to like him, even if he had never bothered to put his foot down over what went on under his very nose.

It had to be Jared, he thought and he felt grateful for one of the very few gifts he would receive that Christmas. A moment later, Jensen, standing up, opened his big mouth and ruined the mood. 

“Doesn’t look like your ass-buddy’s bought you that dildo you wanted Collins, don’t be too disappointed.”

“Shut the fuck up Jensen!” Jared hissed, flushing crimson but Misha was already on his feet and this time, he really was at the end of his very long rope.

He shoved Jensen backwards hard and as the other was stumbling back against Chuck and Garth’s desk, he punched him hard in the face, knocking him right onto Garth’s monitor, which skidded off the surface and ended up on Chuck’s knee, Jensen sprawled right out, virtually in Garth’s lap.

Misha didn’t stop there as a shocked silence descended on the office. He merely put one knee up on Garth’s desk, almost straddling Jensen’s prone body, gripping his tie and dragging the other’s head up. 

“One more time Ackles,” he ground out between his teeth in a voice that shook. “One more and I will have you in court I swear to God.”

Jensen’s left eye was already swelling, the skin turning purple around it as he lay motionless under Misha, not speaking.

Misha abruptly recovered his senses and let go of him, appalled now that he had lost his usually calm demeanor in such a violent way, angry at himself that the bully had goaded him into perhaps what he wanted all along. Because out of the two of them, Jensen had the evidence of violence on his face, hence Misha would be the one to be fired. Jensen though, didn’t look smug that he had driven Misha to this. His face was carefully blank and in the ensuing silence, he picked himself up and moved to his desk, shutting down his computer and pulling his coat from the back of his chair.  
“Holy shit,” Garth spoke up now, glancing at Crowley’s door. “You’re really lucky he didn’t hear all that.”

“I don’t give a fuck,” Misha almost snarled, packing his own things up as quickly as he could.

Jensen was first though, taking his car keys from his desk drawer, gathering up his own Secret exchange gift under his arm and casting a quick look at Misha, before he moved out of the office without a parting word to anyone.

“Hey,” Jared said softly as Misha pulled his own coat on. “Are you okay?”

Misha nodded, not looking Jared in the eye, holding his present with difficulty as he put his messenger bag on his shoulder and reached his keys from his pocket.

“Merry Christmas you guys,” Chuck said as he made his way past them and Misha and Jared returned the sentiment, echoing it to Garth as he followed Chuck out.

“Listen...” Jared said, his voice still low. “What are you doing tonight?”

“Oh you know...netflix” Misha muttered, still keeping his eyes averted, beginning to walk from the office now, so Jared followed him, still shrugging his coat on.

“You could come around to my place if you want, Gen’s cooking and...”

“Oh no Jared, thanks all the same but...” Misha was quick to say as they made it to the stairwell and descended to the ground level together.

“Are you sure, because...” Jared tried to argue.

“Yes, really,” Misha said awkwardly as he pushed the outer door open and they were hit in the face by a flurry of snow falling from the jet-black sky.

Jared smiled, turning his face up, before hooking an arm around Misha’s neck and pulling the smaller man into a bear hug. “Merry Christmas man, have a good one.”

Misha allowed himself to relax into the hug a moment, trying to recall the last time someone had held him and unable to. “You too,” he muttered as he drew away. As Jared smiled one last time and stepped towards his car, Misha called after him. “And thanks for this,” he held up the gift.

Jared shook his head. “Not from me,” he said with a grin, unlocking his car.

“Oh,” Misha said in surprise, “do you know who it’s from then?”

Jared looked coy. “I might,” he said, “but I’m not going to tell you. It’s supposed to be a secret, remember?”

Misha smiled ruefully and nodded, turning towards his own car. As he opened its door, he glanced across the parking lot and saw the empty spot where Jensen always parked. 

**

After his shower, dressed in a robe, Misha stood at the window with a glass of whiskey, watching the snow fall. His bruised knuckles stung and he was sorry he had hit Jensen now, because violence wasn’t his style. But he had needed to do it, he thought, it had been the culmination of six months of bitterest hatred on his part. He so hated wasting any more time thinking about Jensen Ackles than was necessary. But even now as he threw himself down on the couch and lay in silence, with an arm over his face, he got a mental image of the other, sprawled across Garth’s desk and staring up at him in something resembling disbelief.

After a few minutes, his eyes strayed beneath his Christmas tree to the Secret Santa gift. He got up and knelt by the tree, taking the gift on his lap, fingering the ribbon and bow, then feeling around the edges of the square parcel. A sparkling silver gift tag hung by a piece of string and he plucked that up now and read it for the first time. 

_To Misha. With love_

He stared at the large, rather elegant handwriting and mentally tried to picture all his colleagues’ handwriting, all of which he had seen at one time or another. Nobody’s came to mind though as the author of this tag. He sat holding the present and wondering why he didn’t just open it and get it over and done with. But he was a traditional man and he had always opened presents on Christmas Day and would continue to do so, even with something which would probably be meaningless gag gift from one of his colleagues. He took the bottle of whiskey from the kitchen and placed it on the coffee table next to his glass, so he wouldn’t have to move for the rest of the night.  


Sleep eluded him. He thought about work and about Jensen. How exactly could he face his colleague again? Jensen might have been too taken aback at Misha finally finding his balls to retaliate, but he could just bet that the other would kick the shit out of him when he had to face him again in five days.

His thoughts strayed to the Secret exchange gift and what it could possibly be. He became convinced more than ever that the elaborate wrapping of the present was just a front for the meanest, cruelest Christmas present ever, courtesy of one of his colleagues. He hated his suspicious mind but he couldn’t help feeling that apart from Jared, Jensen had poisoned everyone against him.

Making a sudden decision, he jumped out of bed, pulled his robe on and made his way downstairs. It was one-thirty now, which was Christmas Day in his book and meant he could open his presents. He was only interested in one of them however, just so he could put himself out of his misery and rest that night.

He pulled the Secret exchange gift onto his knee and paused a moment, taking a deep breath, before he peeled back the tape. Putting the box aside, he slipped a finger under the paper of the large gift and ripped it open, pulling paper, ribbon and bow free.  
He couldn’t help the gasp of astonishment as he pulled out a rather expensive camera strap, he had been eyeballing this very one two weeks prior at his desk in the office. He had recently lost his strap and had been meaning to purchase a new one after buying a standard strap that chaffed the hell out of his neck, leaving it sore on his weekend photography treks. His finger traced the comfortable neck padding and was amazed to see his initials embroidered into the outer strap.  


Quickly, Misha shuffled through the tissue wrapping in the box for a sign of who this thoughtful gift could have been from, as he overturned the box, a single post it note floated to the floor.  


_I’m Sorry._

  
His fingers trembled as he reread the note again and again. After his moment of shock, Misha reached over for his cell.  
“I’m sorry to disturb you so late,” Misha murmured.

“It’s fine, just about to call it a night” Jared said with slight concern at Misha’s tone “Are you ok?”

“Jared,” Misha said urgently, ignoring the question. “Who gave me that gift?”

“Oh no,” Jared groaned.

“Jared, who sent it?” Misha repeated.

“What’s in it?” Jared asked curiously.

“If I tell you, tell me who sent it,” Misha replied.

Jared sighed. “Fair enough.”

“A custom-made camera strap”

“Really?” Jared asked in astonishment. “I wouldn’t have expected that from him.”

“Who was it Jared?” Misha asked, ignoring him.

“Jensen of course,” Jared said. “I’m surprised he didn’t take it back when you decked him.”

Misha bit his lip, a hand over his eyes. “Where does he live?”

“Oh come on Misha,” Jared said immediately. “It’s Christmas Day, leave your feud until you get back to the office, okay?”

“Tell me,” Misha insisted, already reaching for a pen, holding it poised over the post-it note.

“Shit, tell me I’m not going to regret this,” Jared said.

“You won’t,” Misha said.

Jared recited an address.

“Thanks,” Misha said quietly, scribbling it down, “merry Christmas Jared.”

“You too Misha.”  
**  
His feet were numb with cold by the time he reached the house at the far end of the quiet cul-de-sac, all sensation gone to his nose and lips, his hands icy despite his gloves. He decided against driving after downing a half bottle of whiskey and reasoned that Jensen’s street was a mere 10 minute walk from his own house. He trembled with something more than cold as he asked himself what he was doing here and failed to provide himself with an answer. It was with relief that he saw dim lights shining downstairs as he made his way up the driveway, anxiety clutching at him that perhaps the man would not be alone, that Misha would be barging into an intimate Christmas Eve shared with a significant other half.

He raised his gloved fist and knocked on the door, then he turned his face up to the sky and let the snow come down on it. A moment later a light came on in the hallway and the door was swung open.

It was strange to see Jensen not wearing a suit. He wore a robe, his feet bare, his hair a little disheveled like he had been sleeping. His mouth dropped open when he saw who was shaking at his door, while Mishas’ gaze was drawn to his eyes, the one which was grotesquely bruised and swollen.

Jensen was the one to find his voice first as they stood staring at each other on the doorstep. “What do you want?” His tone wasn’t unfriendly, if anything it was wary.

“I wanted to ask you why you bought me the present,” Misha said instantly before his nerve could fail him.

Jensen’s honey eyes looked strangely sad, almost defeated. He shrugged. “Because I drew your name,” he said.  
“That’s not what I meant,” Misha snapped angrily. “Answer the question. Why didn’t you swap me for someone else and why that present?”

Jensen averted his eyes, seeming to be struggling to find words. Finally he said quietly: “Look, you seem kind of cold, why don’t you come in?”

Misha hesitated at this invitation because it rather seemed like the spider asking the fly to step onto his web, but he was cold and more than that, he was tired and dispirited and lonely.  
Once he stepped into the warm room he glanced around, it was lit only by Christmas tree lights and the TV. He half expected to see some company, maybe some large-breasted blonde reclining half-naked on the couch but there was no one there.

“Are you alone?” He asked quietly as Jensen turned around to look at him.

“Yes,” the other replied. “Can I get you a drink Misha?”

Misha was torn because he wanted something to warm him up badly but at the same time, he didn’t want to sit here taking this demon’s hospitality.

“I just made some coffee,” Jensen persisted, “or would you like something stronger?”

“Coffee’s fine,” Misha acquiesced. “No sugar thanks.”

Jensen nodded. “Take your coat off and have a seat,” he said as he disappeared through a door into the kitchen.  
Misha stripped off his coat, scarf and gloves and perched on the edge of the sofa. This was surreal. He hadn’t expected to be invited into Jensen’s house. He thought maybe they might spit a few words at each other on the doorstep, maybe exchange a fist or two, come to a gruff understanding and then Misha would go home happy that Jensen would never bother him again and look forward to his solitary Christmas dinner.

He looked around the room. It was sparsely and cheaply furnished like his own, but it was homey and welcoming, the walls pale, a couple of artsy film prints on them, the tree decorated in silver and red. Misha couldn’t help but notice the TV was on the same channel he himself had fallen asleep to that night, showing re-runs of The Brady Bunch. He also couldn’t help but notice that the only present under the tree was the Secret Santa one Jensen had received earlier.

Jensen came back holding two mugs and put one down in front of Misha on the coffee table. Misha murmured a thanks and sat looking at Jensen as he took a seat in a chair in front of him.

“So,” he said as Jensen sipped his coffee. “Answer my question.” His tone was still frosty. Just because he was in the son of a bitch’s house, didn’t mean he had to let his guard down.

Jensen gave a sigh and leaned forward, putting his cup down. Misha saw down the front of his robe, a vast expanse of tanned muscular flesh, all the way to his stomach. “You read the note right?”  
“Yes,” Misha said.

“Then you know why,” Jensen replied.

“Because you’re sorry,” Misha said a little sardonically.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s Christmas.”

Misha stared at Jensen in disbelief. “Oh, so hostilities will resume when I see you in five days, right?” He virtually snapped.

“No Misha,” Jensen was staring down at his pale, pristine carpet. 

“Then help me understand why Jensen,” Misha went on coldly. He felt oddly like he had the upper hand here, all Jensen’s usual aggression and hostility gone. “Why are you sorry?”

Jensen paused for a long while. He rubbed his forehead a little with the back of his hand, keeping his eyes downcast as he murmured: “Because Christmas always makes me want to be a better man.”

Misha didn’t know what to say and even if he had known, he couldn’t have spoken for the lump in his throat which threatened to choke him. He fought to compose himself, not to hand the control back to Jensen by breaking down here  


“So why that present?” He managed finally.  
“A few days ago, I snuck a look into your photography portfolio on Jared’s desk while you two were in lounge and I was fucking blown away dude. You have too much talent to be wasting it. Plus I seen you salivating over it when you thought no one was looking” 

Misha lowered his gaze. The lump was back in his throat and this time it was accompanied by burning tears in his eyes. He shook his head in denial of Jensen’s words because he didn’t think his work was anything special any more.

“Yes,” Jensen said and his voice was soft, softer than Misha had ever heard before and caused him to bite his lip, to try to keep the tears from spilling out.

“Don’t get upset,” Jensen said gently.  
Misha put a hand over his eyes, willing himself not to make a fool out of himself here, not in front of Jensen Ackles of all people. “Why did you...when you had already bought the present, why did you make that crack about the dildo today?” He asked in a trembling voice.

“Shit, you know what Misha?” Jensen replied with a sigh. “Because I wanted you to hit me. Because I deserved it. And then we could start to even up the score.”

As Misha processed this startling information, he heard a rustle of clothes as Jensen got up from his chair and a moment later, felt the couch sink next to him. His entire body tensed in fear as though Jensen would hit him, even though he knew without doubt there would be no violence tonight.

He flinched when he felt fingertips rest very lightly on the back of his neck, stroking in a gentle, rhythmic fashion. Slowly he turned his head so he faced Jensen. The other’s hand moved around to cup his cheek now, his thumb stroking away the first tears to fall. Misha lowered his head, unable to look into those green eyes which no longer contained that hatred he was so used to seeing and instead contained something else. But the fingertips continued to stroke his cheek so gently that Misha very slowly turned his head and pressed a kiss into the palm of the large hand.  


Jensen didn’t snatch his hand back as Misha thought he might, but held it there as Misha worked his way slowly up to the tips of his fingers, planting three more kisses, while tears continued to trickle from his eyes. Then Jensen’s hand moved around to the back of his neck and very slowly and gently, he drew Misha towards him, moving himself closer on the couch, so Misha lifted his eyes to see Jensen inclining his head, a moment before his lips pressed lightly to his.

Misha was so stunned that for a moment he could not respond. He only remained still in the other’s grip and let the soft lips caress his, defrosting him slowly from the outside inwards and warming him, making him molten with need. He parted his mouth to Jensen and fell deep into the kiss.

The other gave a soft sigh into his mouth and one arm wrapped around Mishas’ back, drawing him possessively close, holding him so tightly, his kisses so tender that Misha cried all the more, until Jensen drew back, shaking his head, murmuring at him to shush before kissing the wet tracks on his cheeks and then drawing Misha back to him, taking his mouth again, kissing it so thoroughly but so sweetly that Misha’ lips sang like a bird set free from a cage.

He put a hand hesitantly around Jensen’s neck, fingers tangling in his hair, the other hand resting on the small of his back. And they kissed and kissed and then kissed some more.  
Finally, Jensen drew away and cradled Misha’s head, holding it against his shoulder, stroking his hair reverently. Misha clung to him and slowly Jensen lay down on the couch, taking Misha with him.

They lay there together in silence for the longest while, wrapped in each other’s arms.

Misha had fallen asleep. He awoke with his face buried in warmth, legs entangled with his, arms around him. He shifted a little in confusion, rolling half onto his side, lifting his head to see who was holding him this way, because for a moment he couldn’t remember.

Then he saw the jade eyes of the enemy looking down at him and he was fixed to the spot in horror. Wait, what had happened? And memory came flooding back. The kiss.

Jensen smiled a little sadly and moved onto his own side, so they were face to face, pressed together, one leg threading through Misha’s, his robe opening to expose one muscular thigh, a hand tangling in his hair, stroking.

“Hey,” he said quietly.

“How long have I been asleep?” Misha managed to find his voice and it was unsteady.

Jensen glanced over towards a clock on the top of the TV. “About an hour,” he said.

“I should go,” Misha said quickly, disentangling his limbs from Jensen’s and sitting up, trying not to notice the expanse of skin on display before Jensen drew his robe together and tightened the belt.  
He climbed off the couch, the other man not speaking and plucked his coat from the back, dragging it on. Jensen’s kiss still burned his lips and his mind whirled with confusion at what, actually, he was doing here and why he had allowed his enemy to do this to him. He made quickly for the front door without looking back, stooping to pull his shoes on and fasten them with trembling fingers. As he put his gloves on, Jensen came out into the hallway.

“Listen,” the taller man started to say, but Misha didn’t want to hear it. He pulled the door open and stepped out into the still-dark morning. The snow was still coming down heavily, Mishas’ tracks from previously already erased on Jensen’s drive. For a moment he turned his face up to the sky and then he looked at Jensen, who stood watching him in silence.

“Come out into the snow with me,” Misha said quietly.

Jensen looked taken aback, then he said softly, “Okay. Let me get dressed.” He pushed the door almost closed and Misha saw his silhouette disappearing up the stairs. He walked across Jensen’s front lawn, watching his own footprints and then he plunged both gloved hands into the snow.  
When Jensen came out, wearing boots, the same overcoat he wore for work and a black beanie hat, Misha was busy inserting pebbles into his snowman’s eyes. Jensen laughed softly behind him. “How old are you Mish?” He asked sardonically, but without the malice Misha had once associated with him.

“Mish?” he chuckled in disbelief, Jensen answered with an embarrassed laugh of his own.  
“Thirty-five,” Misha said haughtily, turning to look at him. “How old are you Jensen?”

“Thirty-one,” Jensen replied, “why didn’t you tell me what you were doing? I would have brought out a carrot for his nose.”

Misha burst out laughing. “Why don’t you find some twigs for his arms?” He suggested.

He waited until Jensen turned away with a smile and then he bent, grabbed up a huge handful of snow and molded it into a ball, before aiming it hard at Jensen, hitting him squarely in the back.

Jensen straightened up from the tree at the front of his garden. “Oh I see,” he said, in mock-seriousness, “so you want to play do you Mish?”

Misha, quivering with laughter at the use of the brand new nickname, nodded and then ran away as Jensen immediately bent down to grab some snow in his bare hands. The first snowball hit him on the thigh, the second on the back of the head while he stooped to quickly make one of his own. Jensen was stalking towards him with a third in his hand as Misha aimed and hit him right in the chest.

“Right,” Jensen growled and reached to grab Misha by the shoulder, while holding the other snowball up. Misha scrambled backwards and fell heavily into the snow and Jensen tumbled on top of him.

He watched the other smirk, the snowball coming towards his face and he shrieked, eyes closed, bracing himself. He wasn’t met with cold and wet in his face but warm lips on his. He groaned in surprised delight and returned the kiss, wrapping his arms around Jensen, holding the other close.

They kissed for many minutes lying there in the snow until Misha was wet through to the bone, only his lips warm and finally Jensen lifted his head to look down at him. “What are you doing today Misha?” He asked quietly.

“Oh, you know...” Misha shrugged with embarrassment.

“You could stay for dinner here if you like, I’m not bad of a cook,” Jensen said. The hope in his eyes almost startled Misha.

Misha paused to consider his options. A day where he cooked his own food and sat in front of the TV eating it, before getting drunk and crawling into bed by nine PM, or a day with his bitterest enemy, the one who could kiss like Misha had never been kissed before.

“I don’t eat kale,” he warned in his most stern tone.

A sudden grin crossed Jensen’s face, showing his perfect teeth and trademark smirk and for a moment Misha was stunned at his beauty. Jensen got up off him and put out a hand, helping Misha up. His other arm went around his back and he drew him close a moment, his nuzzling mouth hot against Misha’ ear, sending a shiver through him. As Jensen turned away to walk back to his house, Misha gathered up his discarded snowball and hit him on the back of his head.

Jensen growled a little and lunged for him and the two ended up back in the snow, kissing until the way they pressed their bodies together and their tongues caressed the other suggested this wasn’t so innocent anymore and Jensen drew back, getting up quickly, looking embarrassed.

Misha followed him in silence with the blood like fire in his veins. As Jensen entered the house, he turned back to look at Misha behind him. He seemed unsure, afraid, his eyes searching Misha' deeply as though they would give him the answers and reassurance he sought. In the face of this, Misha was suddenly decisive. He stepped into the house, pushing the door shut behind him, allowing Jensen to see the desire on his face.

There were no further words exchanged as they both kicked their shoes off on the mat and then Jensen’s hands went to Misha’ coat, unfastening it quickly, seeking his lips as Misha’ hands did the same.

Their coats fell to the floor and Misha’ fingers moved beneath Jensen’s hoodie, so the other raised his arms willingly to have it stripped off. He wore nothing beneath, his torso soft and perfect that Misha’s hands moved over it in awe, following muscle, bone, nipples, before he pressed his lips lightly to Jensen’s clavicle, tracing it, dipping into the notch at the top of his sternum, inhaling the fresh, clean smell of the man’s body as he did.

Jensen was breathing a little heavily, his hands drawing Misha’s sweater off, then the T-shirt he wore under that, his fingers on his torso, moving over his shoulders, to draw Misha into his body, so they felt flesh against flesh and both shivered with excitement. Misha followed when Jensen moved into the living room and stood still in both fright and desire when the other’s hands went to his belt, unfastening it, fumbling with button and zip, his chameleon-like eyes now a dark green in the lights from the tree.

Misha couldn’t help the moan which escaped him when Jensen’s hand slid inside, rubbing with firm fingertips, while his lips sought his again. When Jensen moved away, he reached down to peel his socks off, before discarding every stitch of his clothing, standing naked a moment in the warm glow of the lights, while watching Jensen, who had laid down on the couch and was unfastening his jeans, dragging them and his boxers down to his knees.

Needing no invitation, Misha climbed onto him and their skin slid together as they kissed. They were both desperate now, their breath coming in gasps as they touched, Jensen maneuvering him astride him, large hands on Misha’s ass.

His long fingers stroked and probed, before Misha slid down onto him. They moved together with Misha leaning forwards so they could kiss, holding Jensen’s hands down by his head, their fingers entwined tightly. As they both drew close, Misha sat back and Jensen’s hands moved to touch him gratefully, one hand stroking him to a climax as he thrust up into him.

Misha’s head fell back and he moaned softly and beneath him, Jensen sat up, holding Misha firmly in his lap, mouth to his throat as the other one came between their bodies and he followed suit, with a breathy gasp of Misha’s name.

They sat there kissing in the afterglow for the longest while, until Jensen shifted beneath Misha and before the other could move, had stood up, lifting Misha with legs around his waist and moved out of the lounge. Misha was too drowsy and satiated to react as Jensen carried him up the stairs easily and into a room at the top, lying him down on a king size bed in the dark.

“Get in,” he said softly. “I’ll be back.”

Misha did as he was told, snuggling beneath the duvet. One tired eye flicked to Jensen’s bedside clock which showed it was four AM. He gave a sigh. The most perfect Christmas he had probably ever had in his life, he thought. I am the luckiest man in the world.

As he fell asleep, the bedside lamp clicking on roused him.

“Sorry to wake you,” Jensen said in a whisper as he crawled under the covers, holding two crystal glasses of frothing liquid. “Here,” he said, “I was going to drink this alone tomorrow, but you’re something to celebrate.”

Misha reddened in pleasure and took his glass, sliding up to rest against the headboard, taking a drink of the ice-cold champagne and looking across at Jensen. He smiled gently at his new lover and reached out to touch his cheek.

Jensen pursed his lips against Misha’s fingertips. “I never had a man before,” he said, “I hope I wasn’t too bad.”

“Oh God no,” was Misha’s reply and he moved up to bury his face against Jensen’s neck.

“I’ve...thought about it for a while,” Jensen continued, his voice hesitant and anxious, “and I kept calling you a fag because I hated myself so much for how I felt about you, so I tried to blame you for making me this way.” His hand came up to cradle Misha’s head. “Then when I started to accept my feelings for you, I told myself that if I could just kiss you once, then I would know for sure.”

“Know what?” Misha asked, lifting his head, to look into Jensen’s eyes, but he already knew.

“You know,” Jensen said quietly, “don’t ask me to say it, not yet. Just know it’s true.”

That lump was back in Misha’s throat. He smiled even though his eyes were full and his lip trembled. He put his own glass down on the bedside table, took Jensen’s from him and switched off the lamp, before sliding down in the bed and taking Jensen in his arms.

“I’m sorry I hit you,” he said in a barely audible voice. “I’m so, so, sorry.”

Jensen didn’t speak; he only made a shushing noise and held Misha tighter.

“Goodnight,” Misha said softly, “Merry Christmas Jensen.”

Jensen’s breath was warm and sweet across his face as he murmured: “Merry Christmas Mish,” and kissed him.

 

**

There was sunlight filtering through the curtains when Misha awoke. He was lying on his side, Jensen behind him with one arm around him, every part of his body singing and dancing with happiness. Very carefully he disentangled himself and got up to use the bathroom. As he climbed free from the bed and located Jensen’s robe, pulling it on quickly, he froze as he looked down at the peaceful, sleeping figure of his lover.

Slowly he smiled and then made his way out of the bedroom. He first went downstairs, then he came back to the bathroom and then he peeped into a guest room at the other end of the landing, finding what he needed soon enough without snooping. In a mug on the computer desk were a selection of pens and pencils and open next to the keyboard was a plain notepad. Smiling in delight, he made his way back to the bedroom.

He leaned over Jensen and very slowly drew the duvet back from him, exposing his body all the way down to his knees. He had moved onto his front in sleep and one leg was drawn up. Misha couldn’t ask for a better view of the perfect curve of his spine and pert muscular buttocks, one hand beside his head on the pillow. He knelt down by the side of the bed, resting his notepad on it and started to sketch.

Even as he drew the hills and valleys of Jensen’s back he was aroused, as though his hand stroked them with every movement of his pencil. His eyes lingered on his buttocks and he gave into temptation soon enough, smoothing a hand lightly over one pale globe while he continued to draw.

He was only aware of his subject having one eye open when he spoke: “What are you doing?”

“Drawing you,” Misha said with a smirk, concentrating on one muscular thigh now with his pencil, taking his hand away from the distraction.

“You can’t,” Jensen groaned and buried his face into the pillow.

“Don’t move,” Misha ordered, “I can and I am. You’re beautiful. You need to be drawn.”

He saw the other flush as he smiled. “It’s twelve o’clock; I have to start making dinner...” Jensen protested.

“Soon,” Misha said absently. 

Jensen sighed. He closed his eyes and relaxed into the bed. “You look very good in my robe,” he murmured into the pillow. “I’ve often imagined you in it. And out of it.”

Misha laughed softly. “Stop trying to distract me.”

“I’m not. But does it turn you on to draw me?”

“I’m not answering that” Misha responded casually.

Jensen snorted with laughter. “Come up here, I’m getting cold.”

“Not until I’ve finished. Put your hand back on the pillow,” Misha directed.

“Are you gonna draw me like one of your French girls? How much do you normally pay your models?” Jensen teased.

“Nothing, they do it for the thrill of lying naked in front of me,” Misha replied smartly, blue eyes gleaming with amusement.

“I can see that,” Jensen said. “This is easily the hottest thing that ever happened to me in my life.” He smiled, snuggling further into the sheets. 

Misha’s eyes shifted from the paper to Jensen, lit with amused affection. He put the sketch pad aside and leaned over to press a kiss to the other’s lips.

Jensen murmured in appreciation, eyes closing. Misha drew back and bent down to retrieve something from the floor. “Now why don’t you open this?” He suggested, holding out the secret gift he had just taken from beneath the tree.

He saw the pain in Jensen’s eyes and he understood the other’s shame at Misha knowing this was his one and only gift. “I don’t think so,” Jensen said gruffly, “I’m not all that interested in it. It’s probably some fucking socks from Garth or a lump of coal from Jared.”

“I'm interested,” Misha said softly. 

Jensen turned his head to look at him, the bruise around his eye kaleidoscopic with color. He held his hand out silently for the present. Misha gave it him and he ripped the paper off and discarded it, pulling out a pair of black wool gloves.

He nodded his head in appreciation. “Nice,” he said.

Misha climbed onto the bed, moving to lie down next to Jensen, one hand on his shoulder. “When you came into work one morning,” he said in a whisper, “your hands were blue with cold because you had no gloves.”

He watched the dawning realization in Jensen’s emerald eyes and the slow, steady glimmer of moisture and he pressed his lips to his and let the new love blossoming between the two of them keep him warm on this most wonderful of Christmas Days.


End file.
